


Under the Mistletoe

by mokuyoubi



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Finale, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 00:45:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5437133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokuyoubi/pseuds/mokuyoubi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A request by ferventrabbit for fluffy Christmas tickling which slowly devolves into a "first" of some sort...<br/>Hope you love it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ferventrabbit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferventrabbit/gifts).



It felt a bit like he was hiding right under Jack’s nose, at the cabin in Southern Pennsylvania. As the crow flew, it was probably only a good thirty miles from the nearest town (if it could be called that, with is population of 1200). But all the twisting roads, plateaus, and valleys made it inaccessible by any other route, and so the trip took over an hour to make. 

The nearest neighbourwas over fifteen minutes away, and Will had never so much as seen their car. No one found it unusual that Will and Hannibal never went out, either. They had everything delivered, even the once weekly order of groceries, which were left on the covered back porch. It was common in these parts--the sort of people who chose to live out here were anti-social at best.

On the Allegany Plateau, the snow came early and fell heavy, some areas accumulating as many as 150 inches over the course of the winter. Between the unforgivable weather and terrain, the general disinterest of the people in the area, and the fact that this hideout was in no way traceable to either of them, Will found he was as confident of their ability to lay low and recover. Even if they were only a few hours drive from where they’d disappeared.

The cabin was small and tidy, but it served their needs. The lower level, built into the hillside, housed two bedrooms joined by a shared bathroom, the laundry and storage rooms, and a workout room. Upstairs was one large, open space with, the kitchen, dining area, and living room. 

Windows stretched from floor to vaulted ceiling, along the entire width of the southern wall, warming the room late into the day. They kept the stone fireplace constantly going with the supply of chopped wood in the attached garage. Between that and the natural insulation in the bedrooms, the home was always comfortably warm, no matter how bitter the wind outside.

It was early November when they took their plunge into the Atlantic, and they’d spent the first few weeks in a drug-addled haze. Will didn’t ask, but having now been to two of Hannibal’s hidden retreats, he assumed that Hannibal simply always hoped for the best with his ridiculously stocked pantry, and planned for the worst with his likewise ridiculous medicine cabinet.

Once they’d stitched and bandaged their wounds, they’d slept for days on end, rising only to change their bandages, take their medications, and eat canned soup. Though sometimes he woke feeling energetic, by the time he’d showered, changed, and made the trip upstairs to the kitchen, Will was absolutely sapped. His sleep was, thankfully, dreamless.

By the time the worst of the bruises had faded, and the stitches in his cheek had dissolved, they’d already missed Thanksgiving. Will’s broken arm and collarbone still ached, constantly. He’d slowly begun to wean himself from the pain medication at the end of November, just to see if he could, then had immediately gone back on them. 

The gunshot had gone through Hannibal’s abdomen, nicking his liver in the process. Their swim in the frigid ocean had slowed the bleeding, but he’d still lost a lot of blood by the time they’d made it to a clinic twenty miles from the shoreline. He’d done the surgery himself, pale-faced, sweaty, and tight-lipped.

Though Hannibal’s gunshot was ostensibly the worst of their injuries, he’d otherwise gotten off easy. The bruises that mottled his side and back were ugly and painful, but there was no lasting damage. Will had hit the water first, and he’d taken the brunt of the damage. Besides the stab wounds to his chest and cheek, he’d suffered a broken clavicle, a torn tendon in his knee, and his humerus had snapped clean in half. Then there were the out-of-place ribs, and muscles in his back bunched tight and painful.

That first night, Hannibal had manually put the clavicle back in place and tightly wrapped his arm and put it in a special sling to hold everything in place. From what he could tell, touching Will with tender fingers that had nonetheless caused him to black out from pain, the break was clean. Hannibal was hopeful the bone would heal itself without further intervention.

It was mid-December when Will once again began to feel like himself. They were like two bears, coming out of hibernation, stubble grown thick, hair long and dishevelled. Will couldn’t help laughing out loud when he got his first real look at Hannibal, with his grizzled grey beard, and his hair, long and wispy around his face and crown, pulled back into a half-ponytail. Hannibal suffered the attention with an air of wounded dignity. 

“No,” Will assured him, between breathless gasps, hand cupped over his mouth. “It looks good.” Hannibal arched an unimpressed brow. “You just...you look like you stepped right from the page of some historical drama.”

Hannibal was in a good mood that couldn’t be dampened by Will’s assessment of his appearance, however. He spent hours on end in the kitchen, making each meal more elaborate than the next. Will had never been so well fed in his life. It pushed Hannibal beyond his limit at times, and as soon as they’d finished eating, he’d fall asleep on the sofa in front of the fire.

There was satellite television and internet, but Will had never been particularly fond of either. He spent the days curled up with books from Hannibal’s collection, listening to the records of classical music and jazz. Occasionally Hannibal would play for him, when he was feeling up to it. As the days grew shorter, and the snow fell fast and thick, rising well over two feet up the height of the windows, Hannibal even indulged Will’s requests for Christmas carols, on the condition that Will provide the vocals.

“I have to admit,” Hannibal said, when he’d covered the keys and come to sit with Will by the fireplace. “I didn’t take you as the Christmas carol type.”

Will shrugged his uninjured shoulder and gave him a smirk. “I’m not saying it isn’t annoying as hell when the stores and radio stations start playing them in October...But, I don’t know. There’s something nice about singing along to songs that everyone knows." 

Hannibal hummed thoughtfully. His arm lay along the back of the sofa, his fingers dangling down, not quite touching the ends of Will’s curls. Will was aware of it with every breath he drew. “I suppose there’s something comforting about it, much like familiar sights and scents and tastes from our childhoods.”

“Not my childhood,” Will said with a snort, and then, because he didn’t want to get into that, pushed onward. “But sure...it’s comforting.” 

He could feel Hannibal’s curiosity, radiating between them, but the issue was left to rest. A comfortable silence stretched between them, and Will sipped at the spicy tea Hannibal had fixed after dinner. There was no real pressure to speak, and maybe that’s why he felt comfortable enough to continue.

“I had to take a year of music at my school in Michigan--band or choir, and there was no way I was going to get by on the four weeks of piano lessons I had with our neighbour when I was seven...so I went with choir. The teacher, Mrs. Whitby, I think? She was so excited to have a guy in the choir finally, she started coming up with all these special holiday arrangements.” 

Will laughed ruefully, feeling his cheeks flush at the memory. “There were these god-awful outfits--purple satin cummerbunds and matching bowties, which clashed with the santa hats she insisted we wear for the Christmas Concert.” He shook his head. “It was an absolute disaster.”

“Oh? ” Hannibal arched a brow. The tip of his index finger flicked outward, just barely stroking a strand of hair. Will fought the urge to shiver. “I thought you had a lovely singing voice.”

The blush in Will’s cheek grew darker, heat spreading down his neck and chest. “Disaster,” he repeated. “I was fifteen, my voice was changing, and I’d have done anything to avoid attention. And here she wanted me to hold my own as the only male voice in a choir full of girls, each more eager than the last to make her voice heard over the din.”

“I find it difficult to believe there was ever a time you were able to go unnoticed,” Hannibal said.

After holding himself so tense for so long, it suddenly didn’t seem worth the effort. With a sigh, Will let all his sore muscles relax, body resting in the welcoming curve left by Hannibal’s outstretched arm. At once, Hannibal’s hand wrapped around his shoulder, holding him gently.

He thought about what he’d be doing right now, in Maine, with Molly and Walter. On the surface, there weren’t so many differences--companionship, huddled around the fireplace, keeping the winter cold at bay. This could easily have been a conversation he had with Molly, right down to the teasing tone. Except it never would have been. 

The story itself was innocent enough, but it inevitably got him thinking of what had led his father to that job in Michigan in the first place. Of all the money Will’d had to spend from his part time job on that stupid choir costume, when he could have chipped in on the bills. How he’d slept on a rollout pallet on a floor that smelled like urine and mildew.

There were parts of himself, too close to the edge of the deepest, darkest parts in the river of his mind. Once that water rose too high, it would spill over the banks and into everything, and so he struggled to keep them hidden. From everyone except Hannibal

That, he supposed, was the biggest difference. He didn’t have to live in constant fear of slipping and saying too much. Of Molly finally seeing all of him and running away. Hannibal knew the worst of him and, inexplicably, _loved him_ for it.

A few days later, the grocery delivery arrived, and they brought the bags in together, sorting out the dried and canned goods from the fresh meat, dairy, and produce. In addition to their normal supplies, there were some new items. Baking chocolate and powdered cocoa, fresh mint, heavy cream. Cranberries and popcorn, fresh oranges, and a ream of decorative paper in a variety of festive patterns. 

Will laid the items out over the table top with a bemused expression. “I thought we could make a few handmade decorations,” Hannibal explained, at the look.

And so Will strung the cranberries and popcorn one-handed, and ate his fair share of the latter in doing so, while Hannibal cut and folded the paper into elaborate stars and linked chains. They hung them around the doors and along the mantle. 

Hannibal made pomander balls, pricking the skin of the oranges with whole cloves, making intricate patterns in the rind and tied ribbons from which to hang them. By the fireplace and in the windows, in the bathrooms and by the front door and garage, so that wherever Will went, he could always catch a whiff of that wonderful scent.

There was, as well, a bundle of mistletoe, which Will eyed dubiously. “It is a traditional decoration, is it not?” Hannibal asked, supremely unperturbed, as if he did not understand the implication at all.

He pulled out a step ladder to hang it from the exposed ceiling beam right above the kitchen sink. A place Hannibal himself often occupied. Will rolled his eyes, but obediently held the ladder in place until the task was done. Stretching his arms overhead seemed to pull at his wound, and Hannibal winced as he stepped back to the floor.

“Did you seriously just pull a stitch hanging mistletoe?” Will asked, tugging at his shirt hem.

Hannibal tugged back. “It’s fine. The sutures have long since been absorbed. I merely strained the muscle beyond comfort.”

“Come on,” Will said. “You’ve been playing doctor the whole time, just let me take a look.”

“Need I remind you that I _am_ a doctor?” Hannibal said, but his tone was all fond amusement. “Though if you desire to play doctor with me, Will, that is another matter entirely.”

Will sighed. “Oh my god, just _let me see_ ,” he snapped, exasperated, and Hannibal finally let him lift the hem of the shirt.

The wound was indeed healed--just a small, mostly round indentation, several shades darker than the surrounding skin. It was hard to believe it was the same wound that just over a month ago had been gaping open wide, exposing Hannibal’s inner workings. 

Absently, Will stroked his fingers along the raised pink skin of the outside edge. Hannibal’s abs contracted and released and he huffed out a brief, pained laugh. Will looked up at him in wonder. “Did you just--are you _ticklish_?” It seemed far too absurd to be true of someone as reserved and refined as Hannibal.

Hannibal caught him gently by the wrist. “I’m afraid to disappoint you, but I broke myself of that response many years ago.”

Will arched a brow and easily twisted free of Hannibal’s hold. He let his fingers dance along the exposed curve of Hannibal’s waist, from his ribcage down to the soft fabric of his trousers. As anticipated, Hannibal’s stomach quivered, muscles leaping under the skin, and a faint, high-pitched sound escaped his lips. It didn’t sound quite like laughter this time.

“Looks like you might need to work on that,” Will teased.

Hannibal moved quickly as ever, despite his continuing recovery and their weeks spent lazing. He dug his fingers into the sensitive skin of Will’s armpit, shocking a burst of laughter from him. Will twisted away, laughing helplessly, as Hannibal held him firmly by the arm and used his other hand to tickle the curve of his neck with the very tips of his fingers.

When he finally ceased his attack, they were both breathing heavily, and Hannibal smirked, giving Will a pointed look. Will’s laughter subsided a little at a time, until it died out altogether, to be replaced with a tight, suffocating sensation in his chest. He was aware of just how closely they were standing, of his hand resting against Hannibal’s bare hip. 

“I’m not the one trying to pretend he isn’t ticklish,” Will said, even as he drew his touch inward and upward, along the patch of hair rising from Hannibal’s waistband. 

Hannibal’s stomach went concave under his hand, and he let out a long, hot breath, stirring the curls that fell over Will’s forehead. Warmth sparked low in Will’s gut as a familiar, heavy sensation settled in his groin. 

This was rapidly going from innocent teasing to something far more serious, and Will knew that at one point, he would have stopped before they crossed that line. Now, with Hannibal’s skin warm under his hand, hair prickling against his palm, he couldn’t remember _why_ he’d held out so long.

Will tilted his head back, lifted his eyes just enough to see Hannibal looking down between them, watching the progress of Will’s hand. Testing, Will flattened his hand and smoothed around to Hannibal’s back. He took a step closer, closing the distance between them. His fingers flexed and spread against the soft expanse of skin. Hannibal caught him by the chin and guided him up, and Will obliged, letting his eyes drift close as their lips met. 

It was perhaps the most chaste kiss Will had ever experienced in his life, but he was left feeling flushed and lightheaded as they parted. When he blinked his eyes open, Hannibal was smiling like the cat that got the cream. He lifted his gaze to the ceiling above their heads, and Will followed his line of sight. The mistletoe was suspended there, festive white and green. 

“Traditional decoration, my ass,” Will muttered.

“You can remain scornful,” Hannibal said, tone aloof, “but it has already served its purpose.”

Will rolled his eyes and wrapped his good arm around Hannibal’s neck, tugging him down. He was going to be insufferable now, but Will found he didn’t mind all that much. “Just kiss me, Hannibal,” he said, and Hannibal was happy to obey.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm currently accepting Christmas/Holiday themed prompts on my tumblr--feel free to drop one off: http://moku-youbi.tumblr.com/


End file.
